


Ways to Feel Alive

by Kartaylir



Series: Black Codex: Reconstruction in Progress [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Knifeplay, Now with more smut, Ziost (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartaylir/pseuds/Kartaylir
Summary: Ziost is hardly the place for Theron to bring up just what he found nosing about in Cipher Nine's file, but then he didn't get this far by following procedure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to [this soundtrack](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7BlfEJETMTHlcsC0py6OXX) for all the writing music.

She’s been to Ziost before. Then, it had been as a mere agent watching over the cold discipline of ceremony. Statues, speeches, Sith robes intermixed with the precise uniforms of Imperial soldiers. The excited hum of the crowd. A feast after they crowned one new sculpture with gold and crimson.

Now that courtyard is a wreck of slow-fading flames and shattered stone. The excited crowd of bodies has changed to piles of corpses and those survivors Vitiate has possessed. Glass-eyed figures wandering amid crashed speeders and drying blood. A city even more ruined than the fragments of the Cipher who watches it.

 _Former Cipher. Ghost._ She feels the weight of old titles even here.

And that she's been a ghost of little use thus far. Minister Beniko at least gave them warning, and Wrath has always drawn Vitiate's full attention. There is room in that, to hope, to maneuver. But for her, for the Cipher, all her work has dug up is different sorts of death.

But this is no place to let herself drown in contemplation. She carefully scans every building before her. Burned out offices, charred shops and rotting homes. A few shambling citizens remain. She's seen no animals since their arrival. No flies swarming on the corpses, no tuk'ata feasting on fallen flesh. The world reeks of cold predation as much as chaos. And all her attempts to something a memory of elsewhere are vague fragments. An enemy's offer of a Zeltros vacation, a warm night on the blurred memory of a beach.

All the images her thoughts can summon is sand turned to glass, skin melting away and bone turned to ash. Something else to seal away within the vault of herself. Something else to wait until there's no more work to do.

Scouting what remains of New Adasta is cruel work indeed. Even, especially for her. She's been wearing herself down to dust exploring one tower after another, darting between corpses and the mere puppets Vitiate has made of so many souls. Her only companionship is the fear that they'll not save anyone. What use are spies in a place such as this? What use beings formed merely of betrayal and shadows.

Then, she spots the shuttle. Its crash threw a speeder three stories into the air. Crumpled metal and burned fuel for what must have been hours. From the pattern of the debris, it had at least tried to land. She stares at it until she sees the gaps in its disguise, the careful reinforcements that mark it as more than another fallen civilian vessel. It's circled by crackling bodies, by more puppets dazed with the branching patterns of electric burns down their limbs. Even as she watches another pile of debris begins to burn.

And then she hears a familiar cadence of footsteps from the hall behind her.

Her body tingles as the cloaking spreads over her limbs, seeping out from the implants in her spine. Blue skin fading beneath the image of black walls layered grey with dust. She holds her breath as she feels warmth spreading beneath the base of her thoughts. Of course it's him. Of course he'd be the one the SIS would send.

Theron Shan looks bruised and battered, an all too common sight on their encounters. But the burns scattered across his face push his appearance into something even worse than after his capture on Rishi. Reddened skin emanates out from around his implants, bubbles forming over flesh burned by some form of electric shock. It seems he's too blame for the shuttle. And likely more. 

The pattern of his steps weakens as he moves toward her, one knee starting to give way. 

"Was the Sixth Line your idea or did they just trip upon a pile of SIS agents? We hardly needed Jedi added to those trying to kill us." she asks. There's only a little pleasure in the way he jerks back, none in how he winces as his knee twists in protest.

He's quick enough to brace himself against one of the damaged consoles still. Masks the way he rests against it behind his back, then flashes a weak smile in the direction from which her voice came. She keeps a hand on her blaster as her cloaking fades.

"Got swarmed the instant I crashed. Wasn't expecting a warmer reception after that. So uh, it's good to see you, Ashann."

"I cannot say the same," she lies. Her voice remains cold, holding just a practiced hint of an Imperial accent. "I can only hope you'll prove of use."

He shuffles a little in place. "Oh. Yeah. Cipher Nine then."

She draws her blaster and points it toward one of the holes burned into his jacket. "That name will suffice. You've no right to anything other than titles and ghosts now."

"I did before?" He winks, manages a wry smile. The expression tugs open a cut on his forehead, sends drops of blood slowly down his cheek.

"Do you have anything useful to offer, Agent Shan? Else I could find use for someone to blame."

"Course you do," he says. "But I've got something better than that. You see the wreck of my shuttle?"

She lowers her weapon and leans back against the wall. "I saw bodies and shambling figures covered in electric burns. Half-surprised you didn't kill yourself in the blast."

"Here I thought you didn't care. Seemed to shock the survivors back to themselves, though. Wasn't going to stick around to see how long that lasted."

"Unfortunately I lack the talent to conduct such experiments via lightning," she says, and raises an eyebrow. "Did you have some thoughts on how to do so, or were you merely offering yourself up for Minister Beniko to make the attempt on you?"

Theron blanches at that. "Just need some forcefields and enough of a power grid. Guessing you've got a little hole somewhere we could dig into while we figure that out." 

"Quite." She reaches out a hand to brush dried blood from his cheek and brow. "Maybe even a bit of Kolto to spare."

"Why don't you tell me all about that Kolto on the walk back." Theron smiles, and she can feel a soft sense of warmth from his presence once again.

It is not a long walk back to the abandoned guard post which she and Agent Kovach have settled into. Even with the careful route she takes around, avoiding groups of the possessed and offering a pretense of keeping Theron from knowing the exact location. The guard post itself is just another damaged building. Walls marred with blood and scorch marks, the fence outside torn and flickering with errant electricity. A fading forcefield blinks in and out in front of a scratched door.

"Roomy," Theron whispers as they make their way inside.

She doesn't even look to him, instead turning her gaze toward Agent Rane Kovach. Lana Beniko's aide is looking over a set of satellite readings, spinning a set of a pale blue images in the air before him. They at least show no signs of fire or chaos, distant from what this planet has become.

"I fear I've another task in need of your assistance," the Cipher says to Kovach. 

Kovach turns, and looks over Theron Shan with an air of strained distance. A flattened sort of recognition. "A prisoner?" he asks.

Theron frowns, and the Cipher raises an eyebrow before she speaks. She's grown used to those unfamiliar with her existence, a price of the erasure she'd requested. But Theron has a certain infamy after Manaan, after Rishi and Yavin IV. For this moment she holds herself back from speech.

"Did dissolving intelligence mean they misplaced how to brief people?" says Theron.

"Show a little decorum, Technoplague." Her voice softens just a little. "Agent Kovach here is the one who will determine the success of your shock theory."

Kovach has the grace to stay silent, awaiting an explanation. Theron opens his mouth and then finds enough sense to follow Kovach's example.

"It seems certain applications of electric shock can disrupt Vitiate's control," the Cipher says, continuing. "We'll need to test it before informing Wrath and Minister Beniko. And if it doesn't work...well, we're rapidly running short of ways to be worse off."

At that, Kovach nods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Testing out Theron's discovery leaves them a little time for conversations and the tending of wounds.

It takes them only a little time to adjust the forcefields, to tweak the security measures for this outpost to something just a little less lethal. A brief burst of noise brings possessed troops toward them, towards the arc of electricity between two damaged pieces of fence. The troops fall in a huddle of torn uniforms and unwashed flesh. Blasters and lengths of metal fall from their unconscious hands.

Said troops remain stunned long enough for the group of spies to restrain them, and Kovach is set to watch over the situation as well. The whitened skin has begun to peel away from the larger of Theron's burns. Cipher Nine will allow him to escape medical attention no longer. And the ranking officer of those they've captured is still so soundly asleep. Merely a bruised lump in a Major's uniform.

"Are you sure this will work?" she asks of Theron. She turns away before he replies, to sort through one of the cabinets in search of a medical kit. Or the remains of one.

"Not at all."

"Unfortunate. I'd prefer not to have to fall back to the matter of the scapegoat." She holds up a medkit. It seems intact save for a few dents and a thin layer of dust.

"And here I thought you'd enjoy punishing me."

That makes the Cipher smile, and there's a new hint of warmth in her crimson eyes. She steps back toward him and cracks open the medkit. The contents with are simple enough. Kolto injectors, antiseptic sprays, a few thin sheets of synthflesh. "Best not to tempt me while I clean your wounds," she says, holding up the antiseptic. "And close your eyes."

He does so without argument, though he wrinkles his nose as the spray stings across his wounds. It fizzes briefly and then fades away.

"You can open them now." She pulls out the fragments of synthflesh and holds a sheet of it just a finger's width above his wounds. 

"Think I'll look good with the scars?"

"What scars?" She presses the sheet into his forehead with one hand. Shoves a Kolto injector into his neck with the other.

Theron winces and promptly lets out a string of profanity in at least seven languages. The Huttese is clear enough, but there's a few words whose tongue she cannot even place.

She holds another Kolto injector out toward him and shakes her head. "That's a proposition you should save for later."

Theron rubs his hand over the injection site in his neck. "I will." He coughs a little, then waves a hand in front of his face. "So, uh, you're going to help evaluate the prisoners, right?"

There's a brief cough from the doorway, and the room is filled with a faint sense of discomfort as Kovach enters. A perfect bureaucrat's intervention.

It's Theron who looks over first, his eyes widening in what might be recognition as he sees Kovach again. The Cipher finds herself wondering if Theron had been too dazed before to notice much of the other agent. That he would keep up with Lana Beniko's associates is no surprise, though whether Theron would do so for the sake of shared memories or the causes of the SIS alone she cannot say.

"Agent Shan and I will speak to the ranking officer together," she says. "I'd prefer not to leave him alone as of yet."

She gives Theron a pointed look and then turns to Kovach. "Can you ensure the Major is restrained and inform me when he awakens?"

Kovach nods, then takes the opportunity for a swift retreat from the room.

Theron speaks up against once Kovach is gone. "You're sure about this? What if he's still possessed and tries something?" 

"You speak as if I were not well-equipped to defend myself." She brushes a hand over the handle of her blasters, the hilt of one of her knives. "What has happened to so degrade your opinion of me?"

That makes him look down, as if refusing to meet her eyes could prevent her from a certain sort of understanding. "It's not like that. You...I found...the SIS still has your file. If I offer you that Zeltros vacation again would you count it a family reunion?" He tries to smirk, but there are too many things unsaid leaking up through the cracks in his expression. Finally he looks up to meet her gaze. "Short version is I think being around the Emperor's presence is a lot harder than you're pretending."

"And you think I'd welcome such concern from the SIS after what your agency did to me?" The words are sharper than she intends. They bear the weight of memories that have slowly grown upon themselves, stalactites formed upon a a decade old exile, built ever sharper through the bitter taste of a code word, so many tastes of her own degradation. Perhaps such memories now have earned more weight than they can bear.

It is then that the door opens with a clang of metal, followed by the measured pattern of familiar footsteps. "The Major is starting to awaken," Kovach says.

"Good. Perhaps he can provide us with more definitive answers." Cipher Nine motions for Kovach to lead on, indicates for Theron to follow. She'll deal with Agent Shan and his accusations later. 

The major is restrained in a chair in one of the smaller rooms. His hands are chained to the armrests, his legs and waist bound. A few drops of blood are turning the color of rust on his jacket, and there's another medkit resting on the table nearby.

Cipher Nine makes a show of checking the restraints, though they're precisely as competent as she had hoped. This place does not lend itself to an excess of trust. Not now.

Theron begins to pace the room as Kovach leaves again.

Then she takes her own seat and tries to find her focus. Waits with her back stiff, hands still at her sides. Summoning the memory of Imperial Intelligence, of owning a mandate as much as murmurs and shadows. Authority, bureaucracy, process. And yet when she opens her thoughts all she can feel is the world drowning. This aura of terror dwarfs everything Darth Jadus could muster. Whispers layered upon whispers, images of blaster burns and vessels falling from the sky. A void that could drown her and yet she knows that she is not the one the Emperor seeks. A mere Cipher is beneath his notice.

All of this vibrates through the room until she wonders that the others cannot hear it. A chill colder than the surface of Csilla, than a cave where she'd nearly froze to death on Illum. A deepening echo of what had lurked on Yavin IV winding its way through her heart and bones. The strand of the Major's fear is buried beneath so much of it. She folds her hands into her lap and lifts her head. For this, she can observe.

There's a cough then, the soldier fully awakening. The intake of breath as he evaluates his surroundings.

The Cipher gives Theron a brief nod. He can play the Imperial well enough to proceed.

And so he does. It's the pretense of a debriefing overseen by Intelligence. Names, ranks, patterns of movement and possession. She can feel the Major's confusion change slowly to fear, to a sense of hopelessness that would be alien to Vitiate's mind. For now, this soldier is himself.

"We'll have you and your team transported off planet," she says. "Wrath and Sith Intelligence have their own forces here to attend to the situation." Only a few of them, true. But vast numbers here would merely feed more bodies to the Emperor.

Theron leans over to undo the Major's bonds, his posture still stiff with the impression of the Imperial military. "Don't worry, soldier," Theron says. "Agent Kovach will make sure you're extracted safely."

Kovach steps into the room just long enough to grab the medkit and then lead the soldier away.

Once the door closes again Theron slumps a little, ruffles his hair as he casts aside his military impression. "You're starting to look like shit, you know."

"Are you going to accuse me of using Glitterstim next, or should I cease to guess what wild accusations you'll put together?" the Cipher asks. 

"Hey, I'm not saying you're a Zeltron." The flush on Theron's cheeks grows a little brighter. "Genetic tests said your mother was one though. Guess we should all be glad you didn't inherit the pheromones."

"You're the one who tried to seduce me on Rishi, Agent Shan."

"And you're the one who succeeded."

"After you accused me of trying to poison your fruit. Or did you just want to see me eat it?"

Theron's smile only lasts for an instant, but it's enough add a little warmth into his eyes. "Well, yeah. Though if I'd known what my side had done to you...still surprised you didn't shoot me."

She stands and folds her hands behind her back. Her voice grows cold. "Your Director didn't even bother to secure that from you? I didn't know there were further depths of incompetence for the SIS to find."

"Did a lot of digging. Even had a conversation with someone who said you'd know him as 'Chance'."

Silence. Her nails dig into the palms of her hands.

"Know there's not an apology out there that'd matter enough, but if you think of one...." Theron trails off and takes one step toward her.

She presses the nails in harder. That pain is some small focus here. "Don't try to tug my scars open, Theron. With Vitiate to fight this is no place to bleed."

"It's not like I'm going to stop fighting him. And now we've got something that works."

At that, she lets her hands fall back to her sides. "I'll go make the report on that. I'm sure they could use some good news."

"Glad to have some to offer." Theron smiles again. "And if you want any company, well, I don't have anywhere else to go. Promise I won't ask too many questions."

"I won't hold you to that promise. But if any of your accusations were true, well, I might find a use for that company." She stretches out a hand, gently tracing fingertips over the damaged implants in his brow, down across his cheek. Pulls her hand away just as it would have reached his lips. 

Theron exhales slowly as he looks to her. It's a moment or two before he speaks. "In that case I'll try not to mess up my face. More."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking up on Theron results in him offering a more intimate apology.

Preparing her report to Lana and the others takes little time. Cipher Nine has had no shortage of practice at such things, and her allies now care little about having her frame her words like they could turn to shards of glass in some bureaucrat's hands. So it's a few minutes of work that result in a stream of blue lines across a screen. Such a small thing to summarize their test. To encompass Theron's discovery. For now, she says little of Kovach. There will be further tests to come.

With the message sent her thoughts have time to wander. The contemplation of sleep as the most recent stim to her system starts to fade. But rest would entail too many moments without anything to distract her thoughts. Only the slow thrum of suffering that permeates the city around them.

She goes to find Theron instead. It's easy to justify: he's an enemy agent, his burns were severe enough that complications could occur. Always safer to have cause for what she does.

Not that he seems much of a threat in his current state. When she finds him he's curled up in a corner, one arm covering his eyes. The soft reverberations of his snoring contrast with the dirt and Kolto smeared across his flesh, and the scents of fried electronics and burned skin have faded. She stands in the doorway for a time. With the foe they face it seems best to let him gain his rest.

Such does not last for long. His arm shifts and he winces at the pain, knocks his head back against the metal of the wall. "Hi. Guess the nerves are healing."

"Good." 

"Was starting to think you'd gotten tired of me looking like I lost a fight with a Rancor."

"I'd have said you look like you won the battle," the Cipher says as she steps closer toward him. 

"Thanks. I think."

"Come now, Agent Shan." Another step. She leans in to whisper in his ear. "Are you worried I wouldn't like you bruised?"

Theron runs his hand through his hair and his cheeks turn just a little more red. "You haven't seen what happened to my side yet."

"Show me."

He pulls his jacket off first, folds it carefully and sets it atop one blinking bank of computer systems. Then he pulls up a corner of his undershirt to reveal splotches of purple bruises running up his side. "I meant what I said earlier, you know. About—"

That's when she lays a finger upon his lips to silence him. "No apologies. They'll only make me think of the past."

Theron wraps his lips around that finger, gently teases it with his tongue before pulling away. Then he slides the undershirt off. Reveals the patterns of bruises and grime embedded against his skin. He rubs at one set of bruises on his upper arm.

"You've never been careful enough," she says, trailing a wet finger across her own mouth. "I'm glad that I've sufficient time for a closer look." She sets a hand upon the back of his neck and pulls him down just enough to kiss his brow. Slow first, gentle, circling around the marks on his flesh, finding the taste of sweat on her lips.

"Think I'll make it?" Theron asks. 

Her lips trail down toward his cheek, and she moves her hand to brush at the stubble forming there. "Maybe. I've heard that bedding Cipher agents isn't good for one's lifespan."

"Maybe I want the challenge." He slides her hand away, pulls her uniform jacket from her shoulders and lets it fall around her waist. His fingers run up her arm until they reach her shoulder. Slowly trace the branching pattern of lighting across her back, find every errant line of the narrow scars.

"I'm no Dark Councilor," she says.

Theron laughs a little at that, shifts his hand so that he can now pull her tight. Pull her into a kiss. Her jacket finally falls to the floor.

She can feel the faint pinpricks and winces of pain from his cuts and bruises fade as he focuses his thoughts only on her. His body is warm, the heat almost overwhelming in the still air. Almost enough to quash the distant thoughts of this world's suffering. Ziost's burning outshone by a nearer flame.

So when the kiss breaks she slides her feet free from her boots, kicks them away. Slips out of her pants and leaves her clothes lying in a heap beneath her. Takes his hand and places it over the old scars clawed across her hips and waist, then starts to slowly guide it downward.

"I like you having a history," he says. His hand lingers on these scars as well. And the faint flush on his cheeks is no longer as masked by damaged skin. 

"You like so many things more than you should, Theron." She tugs his hand away from the scars, down toward her inner thigh before placing it back upon his waist. "But I've little wish for conversation, now."

His pants go first, then undershirt, shoes, and the rest. All stripped off with efficiency. "Missed you too," he says as he draws her close, slides his hand back between her legs.

She quivers and pushes him backward. Braces one hand on the console behind him and the other on the least-bruised portions of his chest. Thrusts herself upon his interlaced fingers.

Lights blink across the computer, cast a pattern of color over Theron's back. Someone is sending a message off-planet; she adjusts how she braces herself so she can tap the controls for recording behind Theron's sight. He bears no sense of being a knowing distraction here. But best not to betray what she has seen.

Not when she has such other sights before her. Their piles of clothes are scattered to the side as they pull each other closer, her mouth planting kisses on his neck, her arms around his shoulders. Theron works one hand deeper between her legs as the other winds around her waist.

It's all a blur of sensation, tongues intertwined one moment, the taste of sweat on skin the next. His desire blending into her own, impatience warring with the urge to explore every inch of him. An ambient ache of pain blending with memory as Theron lifts her legs up. His wet hand brushes over the scars on her ankle.

She leans her weight forward, shifting him back. His breathing heightens as she steadies herself with one hand, lifting her body just enough to slide upon his cock. Then it's the slow establishment of a pattern as she moves her hips, pulls his hand back down to where she'll feel it with every movement.

The world seems to tighten in around them as she shivers. Tilts her head back and gasps as he nips at her ear, kisses the few hints of scarring that touch her neck. For that briefest fragment of time she cares for nothing save this intersection of flesh and thoughts. For the ways his eyes widen beneath her, how her nails jut into his shoulder as his body shakes in turn.

He closes his eyes and gently twists the hand still held between her legs. A smile settles upon his lips.

She leans in to kiss the implants above his brow. Then the world rumbles beneath them, and near shakes her loose. The computer displays are filled with a sudden pattern of Republic ships, overlaying the sky like a new set of stars.

And Ziost resounds with bitter delight. Vitiate will have new puppets now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Republic Fleet in orbit around Ziost, Kovach must contend with the consequences of his betrayals.

She sends Theron off to repair what of his implants he can. He has a line to his Director if he can path them, a way to pull the Republic Fleet back if they will listen.

If Satele Shan had come with the fleet Cipher Nine might have let herself hold out more hope. But at it is, she doubts they will listen. Doubts all the Republic soldiers and officers floating above them will place sense over vendettas old and new.

Then she busies herself checking every fragment of data, all the readings they've gathered. Every piece of useful information is passed onward to Wrath and Minister Beniko.

And of course, there's the closer look. Ziost's defenses yet function and have not targeted the fleet. The planet is wounded but not destroyed. Theron may not carry the stench of deception, but she checks every console he might have touched nonetheless. They've few other candidates for such a betrayal, and each one bears more worries with them.

The recordings she'd set the computer to obtain are a tattered mess, fragmented from New Adasta's swift decay, or precautions from the one who sent them. It says too much of her exhaustion that she nearly falls asleep against a holoprojector as she watches through them. Digs into her dwindling pile of stims to keep her mind at something close to attention. 

With Theron distant, the suffering of this world crushes in around her yet again. 

But none of it is enough to keep her from noticing the faint blue glow of a holocommunicator set within the holo she watches. It's enough to jolt her almost awake, adrenaline counteracting all the days that have drained her. And the figure of the Twi'lek that Kovach speaks to is all too familiar. He begs Supreme Chancellor Saresh and she merely casts his pleas aside.

 _So you're the leak_ , she thinks. It's easy to wonder how much Theron knows, how much the twinges and glances she's seen between him and Kovach held some further understanding. Knowledge hidden between composed thoughts and Jedi-taught discipline.

Even so, Theron will not need to see this.

It takes another few minutes to make a copy of that record and then hide any trace that she ever saw it. To form a message of her own to be sent in twenty hours with the record should she not return. Then the Cipher checks the messages again and finds a new one sent with Lana's codes. Schematics and theories, a thousand details on power reassignment throughout the city. They've a chance to free more of New Adasta, to test Theron's discovery on a larger scale.

And so she goes to find Agent Kovach. The mask of ignorance is merely another tool to wear. "Agent," she says. "I'm presuming the Minister informed you as well."

"Correct, Cipher." Kovach keeps his voice even, his face near as perfect a mask as hers. "We should be able to target most of New Adasta once we've adjusted the power station."

"Let's be off, then. Agent Shan can manage our guests. Under current circumstances he has little cause to bring more of his people into further trouble."

Kovach's expression does not waver, but a new tinge of guilt seeps from his thoughts. He nods. "You can handle the dangers yourself?"

"Purging myself from records does not mean I have retired."

There's no more questions then. They make their goodbyes to Theron and then traverse the city to find only a new tour of how much has fallen. Fires burn themselves out on so many corners, and the shambling puppets are outnumbered only by the dead bodies Vitiate's invasion has caused. Already figures in Republic uniforms intermix with the rest of the souls under the former Emperor's control.

The Cipher shies away from none of it. She must know the depths of the betrayal here. Know if it is more than even all she has done.

When they reach the station they find it a mere pile of ruins. Blast marks cover what remain of its walls, fallen bodies amid chunks of duracrete. These bear a variety of uniforms as well, and the twisted, melting form of some Republic transport lies nearby.

Kovach freezes as he stares at the debris.

"Where else can we reroute this?" the Cipher asks. Her voice is stern. 

"There's nowhere. The other stations are failing, and with more troops under Vitiate's control...they'll all be gone soon."

"Then make your report to the Minister. All of it." Her blaster rests easily in her hand. She motions for Kovach to follow her into one of the nearby buildings, flame-scarred but still intact enough for a little bit of cover.

"All of it?"

It's only once they're inside the building that she answers. "I didn't summon the Republic Fleet here, and you know how closely I've observed Agent Shan."

To Kovach's credit he doesn't startle, doesn't jump away. But then to be a double agent or more requires such strength. Especially for one at Lana Beniko's side, deep in the heart of Sith Intelligence. "What did you see?" he asks.

"Enough to know you're about to have as much blood on your hands as I do on mine."

That makes him pause, and a new wrinkle forms on his forehead. "You still need me."

"Do we?" she asks. She does not lower her blaster. "You could not convince your Chancellor Saresh to stay away, nor your fleet."

"That doesn't mean I was going to sit by and ignore the Empire's atrocities." Kovach squares his shoulders and lifts his head to meet her gaze, stares into her crimson eyes as if that alone could convince.

"So you've made your own. You should have been far more careful, for your Republic has little kindness for their double agents."

"And why should I trust an Imperial on that?"

The Cipher laughs, the brief peal of it sharp and bitter. Perhaps it is only the light, but there seems to be the shadow of something more behind her eyes. "For once, you should have followed Theron's example. You've asked your masters far too few questions."

That prompts Kovach to silence, his wide eyes staring at the blaster she points toward him. Whatever other questions he might have offered vanish away as his holocomm softly chimes. The half-formed figure of Lana Beniko makes the caller clear.

"She still needs me," Kovach says.

Cipher Nine lowers her weapon. Her voice grows soft. "Then answer her."

And Kovach does so. His first words are a flurry of apologies. Tales of damage and rampaging troops, infrastructure undone, too broken for any equipment they bear. A dozen true causes and yet all dance about the truth.

So the Cipher waits until the murmuring begins to fade and arranges a call through her own implants. Audio alone, through a frequency she has not used before. Perhaps Theron will not hear her, perhaps he has not repaired enough of his electronics for that. But while she would not have him see what is to come, at least he still should know. Kovach has placed Saresh above Theron's goals here, above the lives of all the soldiers slowly consumed by Vitiate.

The call connects, and she can hear a mutter of confusion from the other side of the line. It lasts only as until the Cipher begins to speak, her attention turned fully toward the hologram of Lana Beniko at last. "Minister," she says. "I fear there's one other matter to discuss."

While the fine details of Lana's expression are lost to the size of the holocomm's image, one can still see her eyes narrow as she waits for further answers.

"We found your leak," the Cipher says. She gestures to the agent beside her, the movement exaggerated enough to show even on a hologram a hands-breadth tall. "Agent Kovach could explain the details better than I."

Kovach swallows, his posture stiffening. It's to his credit that he soon finds his words. "I work for the SIS, Minister. For Chancellor Saresh. Never for you."

"How did I not—" Lana lifts her head, the orange glow of anger evident even through the hologram's small eyes. "I brought you to my side and you've given us all up to the Emperor!"

There's a soft gasp from Theron's end of the line, but he has enough sense to hold his tongue beyond that.

"I'm sorry, Minister. But I could not let the Empire go unchallenged."

"Execute him." Lana's voice grows sharp.

And at that, the Cipher draws her pistol. Kovach's fear has already turned to panic, emotions cutting like a knife's edge through the dull torment of Ziost. He braces himself as if to run.

He does not have the time.

For the building around them resonates with the thrum of her blaster. Kovach's body falls, one neat hole burned into the back of his skull. His face is a ruin of boiled blood and charred bone. The hologram of Lana falls, flickers out.

The Cipher sheathes her weapon, and does not look to the body. "Thank you," she says.

A clean death is all the mercy she can offer.

Theron clicks his line shut.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cipher Nine's actions have brought old tensions to the fore, and yet before the weight of all that is happening to Ziost such can only bend things so much.

Theron is quiet when she returns to the outpost. He avoids her eyes at every turn. The bruises on his face are turning more to yellow than purple, scabbed cuts and burns healing as the Kolto does its work.

"Minister Beniko would have us direct power to the People's Tower," the Cipher says to him. "The blast will be smaller, but Wrath hopes to bait much of the Emperor's forces toward it."

Still nothing save the growing distance of Theron's silence.

"Master Surro among them," she says.

That at least is enough to make Theron look toward her. She braces herself just a little, as if expecting the dam of his anger to break. But he only nods for her to continue.

So she summons a holo from the computers, all blue sketched walls and the snaking lines of power systems. Flashes of orange, red, and green to indicate their status. She taps points on the image, indicating various points. "We'll need to reroute it here and here. I trust you can handle the slicing."

Even under other circumstances that question would not have required an answer. 

And thus they're soon back to silence again. Their journey remains quiet even at all the sights of Ziost rotting around them. Occasionally she can hear the distant hum of Republic vessels landing in this ever-deepening abyss. Theron grits his teeth and sets his jaw at the sound of every one.

It's no surprise that the power station has not survived the chaos unscatched. Electricity sparks over holes in the wire fence surrounding it, and half the doors are jammed. Some obstructed by damaged control panels, others by twisted frames and melted metal. But the denizens of Ziost have left the place alone for now. Many of them have grown weaker now, wilting away beneath their master's gaze or dying of thirst in the streets. They've seen a few throw themselves from buildings. Those of the puppets that retain their strength patrol the streets in through patterns. There are fewer and fewer citizens for them to find.

They do not find the spies. The two of them manage to sneak their way into the building, darting between shadows and gaps with the smallest opportunity. Waiting for cloaking fields to regenerate and patrols to move on. Once inside they make their way to the control room, which reeks of ozone and burnt flesh, though the bodies at least are gone. A gaunt, bedraggled being that lunges at the Cipher is the only thing which remains. Theron fells it with one quick shot.

"Keep an eye out while I slice," he says. His gaze has turned toward the banks of half-lit computers within the room, and yet he never turns his back toward her. He strides toward one particular computer, then jams a spike into it and begins to slice.

"Already on it." Her crimson eyes pan over the dark walls before them. "You're familiar with these sorts of substations." Another not question.

Theron freezes, his hand still resting on the computer spike. Just a tiny portion of a second before he shakes his head. "Just enough to know this would be quicker with another pair of hands."

"Or if half the city hadn't been damaged by Vitiate's puppets and rampaging forcebeasts." 

"Wasn't a beast that killed Kovach."

The Cipher takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest. "Oh, so you'd have preferred he be gored to death for betraying you?" The words are just as piercing as she intends.

"Do you want me to think you're just a killer?" Theron's voice is soft, the words punctuated by the soft chime of his slice succeeding.

She makes a point of sweeping her gaze over the room, checking the view around their building through the few cameras that remain. The silence draws out, stretching until it seems it will continue on forever. Then the Cipher steps closer toward Theron. Closer again, until she's near enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to smell the half-fried electronics in his skull. It's only then that she speaks. "You were keen enough to deem me as one on Rishi. Maybe you were right to do so."

There's the sudden pressure of a blaster barrel against her ribs. She looks downward just long enough to note that Theron holds his fingers away from the trigger, still. "But Kovach still betrayed all of us. He knew the risks of what he did."

"Knew the risks like you did?"

Then sound fades to the mere hum of computer banks, the tentative patterns of breath. Grasping for every trace of the present to ignore the swelling memories of the past.

She steps forward again. Pushes the blaster further into her flesh. "I'd have preferred death. You dared think I'd pass on what was done to me?" Her voice has fallen as flat as that of some barely programmed droid.

Theron is still at first, the blaster barely shifting against her skin. His jaw tenses between two day's stubble. The furrow of his brow twists the cuts and scars set into his so familiar skin. And once again the scent of sweat etched into his skin and soaked into his clothes. Acrid scents of damaged implants and still a few traces of burned hair. She can almost imagine they're back on Rishi, or tucked into some stone temple on Yavin IV. Exploring each other as they've done in so many private moments.

"I didn't mean it like that," Theron murmurs. This close, she can feel his grip on the blaster begin to loosen. The shiver in his thoughts as his resolve wavers.

_You should have,_ she thinks. But she takes an easier route than those words. Leans forward to lay a kisses on his nose, moving down toward his cheek and mouth. Her hand pushes the blaster down. Away. "Don't be gentle," she says.

The blaster nearly drops from his hands. Theron brushes his fingers across her cheek. Slow, exploratory. There are a dozen ways he could kill her from such a gesture. 

She shifts her hands. One so the blaster will not drop further, the other to explore the back of his neck. Down his back, as if checking on all of his bruises. Lower still. Perhaps she wishes he'll actually try. 

He covers her mouth with his, hard and quick as if seeking to overwhelm her. The chill of metal studs against her brow, leaving imprints and hints of ash against her skin. His tongue pushes between her lips with a fervor that overwhelms breath hard. He's slow to pull away. "Still mad at you," he says. "This doesn't change any of that."

She finally pulls the blaster from his hand. 

Theron starts; his eyes widen.

Before he can react further she sets the blaster down beside them. Draws a simple knife from her belt, the blade held out and away. Then she slides it between the press of their bodies. Pushes the hilt into his hand like a sacrifice. A clear enough intent. 

_Use this instead._

He stares. His jaw shifts. His words are halfhearted now. "I'm just here for the Sixth Line."

"Best to keep your enemy distracted then." She pulls his jacket from his shoulders. Leans in until the knife presses against her collarbone. A burst of pain as it draws a crimson line against her skin. "I'm sure your people won't mind."

There's so little weight to just one more lie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cipher Nine's pain isn't much of an apology, but it is about all that she has to offer.

Theron hesitates at the knife in his hand. There's too little space between them for him to pull it back, and his movements merely knock droplets of blood loose to fall across both their chests. He wipes it clean across her shoulder. Now his mouth is set in a thin line, an attempt at the neutrality of an agent's mask. "This doesn't fix anything," he says. 

The Cipher sighs, leans her head against his. Her voice is a mere whisper. "It isn't supposed to."

"I don't understand."

She shifts just enough to brush her lips against his ear. "And yet you still hold the knife."

At that he moves back just a little. Enough to twirl the blade, to run its edge across her cheek. "Can't trust you with it."

They've both brought enough lies, the intertwined pain and regret almost distinct amid the aching loss that is Ziost. She can feel as blood drips down toward her chin from the cut, stains her collar, rolls down onto her lips. She's reaching down to undo her pants when he sets the knife against her chest. He's hesitant again, staring into her face as if that could reduce all of this down to one clear path.

Such uncertainty is almost deafening.

"I'm still your enemy, Agent." She runs her thumb across the blade of the knife, with almost enough pressure to bleed. "You've no cause to be gentle." She leans into the knife again.

"Someone has to." He grabs her shoulder, pushes her back just enough that he can keep the touch of the blade light. Two delicate slashes across her stomach. Each is punctuated by another glance toward her. Asking. Questioning.

She nods. 

Theron tears the tattered pretense of a uniform from her. Runs the knife up her stomach, cutting through her thin undershirt and moving on to encircle one small breast. He pushes her back until the cool metal of one of the computer banks slams against her skin.

The Cipher barely lets herself breathe as the pressure of the knife shifts. Presses in until a narrow cut expands to a gouge across her shoulder. Theron steps back at the sight of it. Blood is splattered across the ash-dusted surface of his jacket. For just a moment she fears he'll pull away further. "Don't stop," she whispers.

"I'm not your enemy."

She can't be sure if he's trying to convince her or himself. But he leans in enough to draw the blade so lightly against her throat. Rests it against her shoulder, the sticky blood drying against her skin. A few droplets of it drip down toward her collarbone, run over her fingers as she clasps her hand over his. Over the hilt of the knife. There's a tension across her chest, drying blood tightening. Enough lines of pain to banish the noise of suffering outside this room.

Enough for her body to relax against him. Theron reaches his free hand down, slides it across her thigh. His breathing slows in silent question.

She runs her fingers through his hair, flakes of blood coming loose as her touch lingers over the rough-cut patches where he'd cut burned strands away. It slips away from her grasp.

Slowly, she moves her hand forward. Covers his eyes with her palm. With the other hand, she tugs the knife down until it comes to rest on her thigh as well. Tilts his head downward. Frees his eyes to see the sight of blood-warmed steel against bare skin. It would take so little pressure there to bleed her. To leave another corpse amid the dust.

"Here you are," she says. "Yet you cannot even speak my proper name." But then, she's grown used to that.

Theron looks up to her. His teeth catch the edge of his lip.

The Cipher gently wraps a hand around his throat. Pulls his head down further still. A different answer to his question. "I'd have you put your tongue to better use.

Just before she shifts her grip to place his mouth between her legs, she can see Theron smile.

Then he nods, the movement rubbing against her thighs. He clasps an arm around her leg; leans inward. The wet warmth of his tongue pressing between folds of flesh, darting up to encircle her clit. Slower then. Toying. Testing. Already her body shudders. Her legs tighten around his neck and shoulders.

"Hurry," she whispers. They've never had enough time to linger.

But he lingers now. His tongue draws languid circles between her legs. The blade slides across her thigh, blood pooling at convergences of skin. She reaches for the hilt of the knife. 

Theron shoves hand and blade aside. The latter clatters upon the floor. He has no space to speak, and yet his sudden aura of worry, of loss says enough. She dares not dwell on the thought of fear in his eyes.

"And here I'd thought I was the only one who missed this," she says. Another, a safer lie.

Her thighs shake from his muffled laughter. He rubs his fingers over the newest etchings on her skin and then presses the attentions of his tongue yet again.

Finally, she is silent. Words worn away by the rush of sensation, her body stiff and still. Almost quivering as if she refuses to release herself. A gasp is all she allows herself when she lets restraint give way. The aura of Ziost's pain dulled by the sense of Theron's satisfaction. The computer imprints its form upon her back as she trembles.

All her thoughts are deafened now, until even the pain is silenced.

It lies quiet just long enough for a breath. She sighs, and tugs at Theron's hair until he looks up to face her. Of course he smiles. He's always cared too much.

"We've little time left," she says. 

"Slice will take a bit longer to reroute it," Theron says, with just a bit of a retort to his words. He lays a kiss over the drying cuts on her stomach. "Can't say I want to let you out of my sight."

She's past arguing. No use to it when they'll be back to the war soon enough. "I'd rather listen to you than to Ziost." Such is enough disclosure for now.

The knife is left where it has fallen. Theron cups her chin with his hand. "I'll be loud."


	7. Epilogue

Jedi Master Surro is asleep in the back of the shuttle, sedated and out of the way of any prying eyes. Her breathing is soft and even. But that's not enough to reassure Theron Shan. He's been pacing back and forth in the docking bay, pausing only to check the displays every few minutes.

The Cipher shakes her head at the sight of him. Her clothes are still tattered and dusted with ash, but she's washed the dirt from her skin and the most of the dried blood from her fingers. "We'll get you out of here," she says. Her gaze remains on the planet below them. Ziost burns, the evidence of in-fighting and destroyed infrastructure the Emperor's shade has prompted visible even from space. "At least you'll have saved someone."

Theron pauses again at that. Kolto may have healed his cuts and bruises, but it has done nothing for the new lines on his face, the shadows under his eyes. "I know. I just—he's still down there."

"And none of us can fight the Emperor alone," she says, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're not much use to me dead."

"Flatterer. You could come with me, you know."

She can't help but notice that his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We both know how that would go. I've enough blood from the SIS on my hands."

"And enough of your own." Theron reaches his hand over to rub a fleck of dried blood off of one of her fingernails. "But I didn't mean it like...just let me know if you reconsider."

Whatever response the Cipher would have given him is lost as she stumbles. She presses a hand against her forehead as the planet beneath them screams. Millions of voices blurring into indistinct noises of pain. It's all she can do to brace herself against the shuttle's hull as Ziost turns to gray in the distance. The docking bay is filled with concerned murmurs as everyone within it turns to stare out the windows.

Master Surro cries out from her bed. 

Theron reaches out to catch the Cipher. He wraps an arm around her waist as he looks out the window as well. He can find no words for a while, watching the tide of death tear across Ziost. Every inch of the world they can see is dust when he finally speaks. "I need to inform the Director."

She tries to steady herself. Both her hands rest against the shuttle now. She lifts her chin and fakes a smile, despite the way despair spreads through her senses like a cloud. "We'll need the help. It's not as if we can depend on your Chancellor to be reasonable."

That prompts a wince from Theron. He brushes a hand against her cheek, leaves it to rest there for a few seconds. Then he pulls away as if trying to fold into himself at this moment of parting. "You know how to contact me. Try not to die."

At that, she forces herself to step back from the shuttle. The false smile is stripped from her face, and all emotion with it. "And try not to get yourself fired."

"Still leaving my earlier offer open," Theron says. Then he is gone. 

She watches his shuttle as it lifts from the docking bay floor, darts its way out into the vastness of space. It's not enough to allow her to ignore the dead world lingering in the station's sky. 

Once said shuttle has vanished into hyperspace she turns away. Now, there will be no more time for respite.


End file.
